I'll Take Care of You
by SpaceCandyBars
Summary: SuperWolf!Sterek fic. AU. One fire sets Derek and Stiles on separate paths, another brings them together. Saving People, Hunting Things, The Sterek Business. Established Sterek Relationship.
1. Prologue

**For Caffrey. Who annoys the life out of me and makes me write ****_All _****the things.**

It started when Stiles entered his senior year of High School. Scott was still going out Allison. Jackson was still a dickhead. Lydia was still oblivious to Stiles's feelings. The Pack were still scary. And Derek was still, well, he was Derek. He was still a mystery. A very sexy mystery. A very sexy scary mystery that could snap Stiles in half if he ever heard half of the things he thought about him. Especially in regards to the arms that would be used to snap him in half.  
Stiles was out with Allison and Lydia helping keep watch during the full moon. Stiles wouldn't usually go out with them. He was used to staying in with Erica and keeping her sane during the full moon. Erica was still desperately in love with Stiles and only his voice grounded her. This full moon everything was different, Derek suddenly demanded the pack stick together for the full moon and nothing could change his mind. That's how Stiles found himself sitting outside a rusty old subway car in between Allison and Lydia; twirling a baseball bat and waiting for the full moon to take effect.  
There was no cell reception in the tunnel and that caused Stiles to miss out on talking to his Dad one last time.  
He didn't know what happened until the morning after when Derek drove him home and all that was left was charred rubble. Stiles was sleeping in the front seat and was shook awake frantically by Derek. He burst out the car and ran towards the still burning rubble; screaming for his Father. It was all a blur of lawyers, moving into Scott's house, burying what remained of his Dad, seeking comfort from anyone and anything.

He didn't take up drinking. He was terrified of it after that was revealed to be the cause of the fire. His Dad was having a celebratory drink and cigar after closing a case and fell asleep. He dropped the cigar to the ground and the fire started. Stiles couldn't even look at a bottle of Jack without feeling the need to hit something. He guess that's what caused him to go running to Derek. To Derek's bed if you want to be more specific. Or the back of Derek's car. Or the walls in Derek's house. Stiles never thought for sure if was gay or not, he just really liked having sex with Derek. He really, really liked Derek. He especially liked having sex with him during the full moon. The job of minding the younger Beta's went to Scott in order to train him as Derek's second.

One day Derek announced that Scott was taking over as leader of the pack whilst he travelled the country. News had been coming in of different creatures attacking people across the country and as the Alpha it was Derek's duty to help catch and destroy the monsters.

Derek took off early in the morning, kissing Stiles one last time goodbye. Scott was an effective Packmaster and managed to reel the Pack in. Stiles eventually moved into a small house with Lydia a couple of months after they started dating. Everything was going well in Beacon Hills; until the disappearances started.

It was a gradual thing. First it was low-lives, scumbags, people no one would really miss. Then Allison's Father was taken. Followed by Coach Finstock. Then Danny Mahealani. That's what caught Derek's eye. He soon kept his eyes constantly peeled on Beacon Hills. It wasn't long before he was packing his bags and setting a course for Beacon Hills. He was getting news updates daily about the disappearances. Isaac and Boyd were soon taken and Derek arrived back in town as news broke that Scott had gone missing. He pulled up at Stiles' house and dragged Stiles with him to find the missing teenagers.

Stiles had his head buried in an old book trying to research what it was. He suspected it was a Trickster, mostly because at every scene when people suddenly went missing there were candy wrappers found and Stiles knew Scott didn't eat candy.

Armed with stakes they went to go hunt down the Trickster. Thanks to Derek's enhanced werewolf skills he was able to find them on the outskirts of town, tied to chairs and being forced to watch terrible videos constantly. Their eyes were literally glued open and forced to watch the show. The Trickster stood and waited for them offering the pair a deal. He'd leave the town and return the stolen people if they burned their stakes and allowed him to go on to the next city. Stiles twirled the stake in his hand before throwing it at the Trickster, it struck just a bit away from his heart and the Trickster mocked Stiles not releasing Derek had ran behind him in the interval and drove the stake through his heart.  
After helping the missing men home Stiles went back to Derek's house and had the greatest celebratory sex of his life. He didn't matter to him that Lydia was waiting at home for him, it was all about him and Derek.

Stiles really wished he went home and stayed faithful to his girlfriend. He had been having weird dreams the past few days of Lydia dying in a fire in their house but he disregarded it as stress from his Father's death. Derek drove him home after they got reacquainted with the bed, and the floor, and the wall and really any surface they could use.  
He walked into the house and found a batch of cookies waiting for him on the counter. He took the batch into their bedroom and started to eat on the bed. He was patiently waiting for his girlfriend to arrive home when he felt drops of something falling on his face. Stiles wiped it away and looked down at his hand seeing blood. He looked up and saw his girlfriend dead on the ceiling and fire bursting out from her abdomen. Stiles started screaming and Derek came back into the house and dragged Stiles away from his dead girlfriend. It was like his Dad dying all over again. The fire, the police, the lawyers, the funeral, the Derek planning to leave again. But this time, Stiles was going with him.


	2. Chapter 1A

**Caffrey Beta'd this for me because he makes me write so I make him spellcheck :D**

It had been five years since the fire at the community centre broke out. The centre was hosting its annual film sleepover and it was packed out with kids. As a safety precaution the owner had locked all the doors in case anyone tried to get in. What the owner hadn't realised was that he'd locked in a psychotic arsonist.  
The fire started out small; confined to a trash can in the office. The keys were stolen and the kitchen was lit up shortly followed the bathroom. The gas tank exploded and the centre went up in flames. Thirty-one kids and ten adults died that night. The parents were inconsolable and many of them either took their own lives or moved away. A small group of them stayed and tried to rebuild their lives.

Elizabeth Watson took a different approach. She became a total recluse. Her only son was killed in the fire along with her husband, and due to that she never moved on. It was just her and her housekeeper in the big empty house on the hill. The rooms were left untouched and Mrs. Watson moved into a guest bedroom; she couldn't face the room she shared with her husband.

It was a rainy night when the phone calls began. At first, she thought it was kids screwing around until she heard the voice. Her little boy's voice. For the first time in five years, Elizabeth didn't have to take her sleeping pills. She had her little boy to soothe her to sleep. The calls kept up for a few days before her son asked her to go to him.  
Elizabeth dressed herself, said goodbye to her housekeeper and went off to see her son. That was the last time she was ever seen alive. The police found her later that evening, lying dead beside her son's grave. She had swallowed all of her sleeping pills along with a bottle of paracetamol. Two weeks later, Matt Coulson killed himself. Melissa Caffrey another week after that, and on and on it went. Each of them reported irregularities in their phones and computers before their deaths. Melissa Caffrey left a note, three simple words written on it; Come To Me.

The Mustang roared as it tore down the highway. Its driver was driving lazily; too preoccupied with staring at the sleeping boy in shotgun to pay attention to the road. Stiles always looked weird when he slept; his head was thrown back, one eyebrow cocked upwards, only making a noise when he breathed in. It was times like these when Derek wondered why he was even attracted to the idjit beside him, then he remembered how Stiles looked when he fucked him. How he would writhe underneath him and all the little noises he made. Just thinking about it made Derek hard. He couldn't act on it right now though; they were driving to Ohio on a case. A rash of suicides were plaguing a small town where a fire raged five years previous. All the victims had loved ones involved in the fire. That's what prompted Derek to take the case. That, and he was trying to keep Stiles' mind off of Lydia.

"Wake up, we're nearly there," Derek smacked Stiles, right on the head. Hard.

"Jesus fucking christ, Derek," Stiles grabbed his head and glared at the man, "Was there a need?"

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek grumbled, speeding into Milan, OH.

"Is this it? Is this seriously it? You woke me up for this horseshit town? It had better be a freaking amazing monster, creature, thing or you're having sex with your hand for a month," Stiles grabbed one of his shirts from the back seat and wiggled into it.

"Fine, from what I've gathered it seems like a vengeful spirit. A vengeful spirit that's convincing people to commit suicide," Derek pulled up to the first motel he saw and parked outside.

"Sounds nice and morbid, are you sure it's a spirit?" Derek grabbed the bags in the back seat, slammed the car door and headed towards the front desk.

"We'll discuss this later," Derek grunted, turning to the receptionist and flashing the wolfiest smile he could muster, "Hi, can we get a double room?"

"Please," Stiles whispered elbowing Derek.

"Please," Derek's smile became incredibly forced as he tried to restrain himself from beating the younger boy.

"Two queens or a king?" the receptionist smiled, typing it up on her computer.

"A king," Stiles jumped in front of Derek and winked at the receptionist. She quirked one eyebrow and passed him the keys.

"Paying upfront or when you check out?" She asked, all traces of pleasantries gone.

"When we check out," Derek answered, yanking Stiles back and grabbing the keys, "Thanks."

"Wait, I need a name for the records," she called after them.

"Derek Hale," Derek called after him and dragged Stiles up the flight of stairs into their room.

"I am going to kill you Stilinski," Derek pushed him into the room and Stiles fell dramatically onto the bed.

"That's twice you've assaulted me today, I'm starting to feel like a battered wife here!" Stiles grumbled, clutching his chest dramatically and stared up at Derek who glared back down at him, "Not in the mood for jokes, okay."

"Start researching, I'm going to go interview the families," Derek chucked a bag at Stiles containing his laptop and a few books on supernatural creatures.

"Really, you're gonna go interview families? With that attitude?" Stiles questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, and you're going to stay here and do your work," Derek slammed the door after him and headed down the stairs. Stiles sat on the bed and started to look up different types of spirits.

Derek drove off to the first house; thankful that Stiles had managed to download the police reports with a little help from Danny. He parked around the corner and pulled on a Sheriff's jacket before making his way to the first house. Caroline Mulholland had been the one to find her fiancé after his suicide and had barely left the house since then. She was also the one who first reported the strange occurrences; fearing for her fiancé's wellbeing. She was just a little too late to save him.

Derek made his way to the front door and knocked once, straightening his tie. He had read that Caroline was roughly 27 years old, but the Caroline who answered the door looked much older. Her hair was disheveled, her skin was worn and tired looking and seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Hello m'am, I'm Richard Plant with the County Sheriff's department," Derek smiled softly, showing his badge, "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions regarding the death of your fiancé."

"Suicide, and why does the Sheriff's department care? He offed himself and left me with all his fucking debt," Caroline took a long puff of her cigarette, "I'll tell you the same thing I told the local PD. He was getting phone calls from some sick kids pretending to be Melody, his younger sister. They used a username to talk to him online, something like LAU33 or SHA33. Something with three letters and 33 at the end. They asked him to come to them and next thing I know, he's dead. Answered a phone call then shot himself. Is that everything Mr. County Sheriff?"

"That'll be all, I'll contact you if we find anything," Derek walked away hiding his claws; he hated rude people. He took out his cell phone and called Stiles back at the motel.

"Find anything yet?" Derek asked, shrugging the jacket off.

"Yeah, this motel has no mini-shampoos, what the heck am I supposed to steal?" Stiles answered. Derek could almost hear him smiling down the phone.

"I meant with the case," Derek sighed. He opened the car door and climbed into his seat.

"Oh, nothing yet. Anything from whomever it was you saw?" Stiles asked, Derek could hear the sound of a book opening.

"The fiancé was getting messages from a 'LAU33' or 'SHA33' online, not to mention a chain of unexplained phone-calls. Before he died, he received a message saying 'Come to me.'," Derek fired up the ignition and sank into his seat.

"I'll take a look into it," Stiles began clicking things on his computer, "Give me a call if you come by anything interesting." Derek hung up and started up the car and began to drive to the next house.

Stiles was leafing through one of the books when his phone started to ring.

"Find anything?" Stiles said down the phone. A voice came through that definitely wasn't Derek's, but sounded like someone else, someone much more familiar.

"Dad?"


	3. Chapter 1B

**Bless Caffrey's heart. I make him do things and he listens...only because he makes me write...**

Derek stood outside his car, tapping his foot impatiently against the wheels. This was the sixth time he'd called Stiles and he still hadn't answered. He was trying to update Stiles on anything strange after finishing up at the last house. To say Derek was getting antsy was an understatement, incredibly pissed off and currently on the verge of maiming Stiles was more like it. Finally giving up, he piled into the car and sped off back to the motel, running a few red lights on the way. He ripped the sheriff jacket off when he walked to his room, ignoring the receptionist's practiced greeting. He burst into the room and found Stiles pacing up and down the room; running his hands through his short hair in frustration. His phone was lying face-down on the bed, buzzing loudly from an incoming call.

"Don't answer it," Stiles shouted, barely looking at Derek.

"I've been calling you for the past fifteen minutes," Derek slammed the door behind him. He picked up the phone and stood next to Stiles. "Why didn't you answer me?"

"Because I've been getting phone calls from the ghost of my freaking dad," Stiles pointed accusingly at the cell phone as if it was some cursed object.

"Ghosts don't make phone calls, Stiles," Derek sighed, squeezing the phone in his hand, doing his best not to break it.

"My dad is calling me. But fine, you answer it if you're so smart." The number on the screen read SHA33, just like Caroline Mulholland had said. Derek hit the green button and answered the phone.

"Hello?" He growled, glaring at Stiles until he heard a voice on the other end. A familiar voice whose owner was unmistakably dead.

"Stiles? Stiles, is that you?" the voice whispered, chilling Derek to the bone.

"Who is this?" Derek barked, clutching hard at the small bedside table, splintering the wood.

"This is Sheriff Stilinski, and I'd like to talk to my son," the voice said indignantly.

"You're not Sheriff Stilinski, he's dead," More pieces of wood began to break off, and he could hear the younger boy behind him starting to whimper.

"I want to speak to my son, put him on." This wasn't Sheriff Stilinski, it couldn't be. This had to be the spirit or the monster, or whatever the hell it was that was causing the string of suicides.

"Fine, here he is." Derek handed the phone to Stiles, set it to loudspeaker and waited for the voice to speak again.

"Stiles, come to me Stiles. Come to me." Derek hung up and threw the cell away. Almost instantly, it started to ring again. Derek walked over to the device and smashed it; Stiles stared at him before turning to gawp at the mess that was his phone.

"Before you complain, I'll get you a new one," Derek growled before kicking the pieces under the bed. "After this ends, that is. Did you find any new leads?"

"Nothing, I've been a little distracted by my dead father," Stiles sat on the bed and pulled the laptop towards him, still shaky from the encounter. "I was still looking for vengeful spirits that could mimic voices of the dead."

"Mail me if you find anything. I think this may be more than a vengeful spirit," Derek took his phone out and got directions to the nearest phone company.

"I'm going to find this son of a bitch and I'm gonna to kill it," Derek promised; Stiles looked up at him and smiled. He looked exhausted.

"Going by our track record, I'm probably the one that'll end up finding him," Derek glared at him and yanked the cords from every phone in the room before storming out. "Call me, Wolfie!" Stiles called after. Not fifteen minutes had passed before Derek arrived back in the room with a cheap cell in his hand.

"I'll call you on this. If anybody calls, don't answer," Derek passed the phone over to Stiles. "I'll ring once, hang up, then ring again. You got that?" Stiles looked down at the phone in disgust.

"Yeah I got it. Ring once, hang up, ring again," Stiles said, flipping the phone over in his hand. Derek nodded at him and walked out of the room. He tested their system in the car park before he left.

"Hello?" Stiles answered almost immediately.

"Stiles! What did I tell you? You only answer after I ring once, then ring again," Derek pinched his temple, that boy was going to be the death of him.

"Yeah, but I knew it was you," Stiles replied playfully.

"How did you know it was me? I could've been the spirit."

"Intuition? I've been fucked by you so many times there's a werewolf bond between us?"

"You're not a werewolf, there can't be a werewolf bond!"

"That's not what it felt like last night," Derek could practically see Stiles smirking down the phone. He ended the call and drove off.

"This number is ancient, you do realise that right? I mean prehistoric ancient." Derek sneered at the filthy man in the phone company. The office was a sight to behold; it literally looked like a dumpster truck unloaded all over it, and it smelled twice as bad. The employee he was speaking to, Chris, was completely incompetent. He seemed to care more about adding to the filth and watching porn, if the stacks of discarded tissues were anything to go by.

"I know it is, but that's the number that's been pranking my office and I need to know who it is," Derek replied, disgusted, pinching his nose.

"Well, I can't tell you where it's coming from, but I can tell you that it's been used to ring at least twenty different numbers so far," Chris printed the information out and passed it to Derek. "Are we done here? I was kind of busy you know?" He nodded towards his computer and cocked an eyebrow. Derek growled at the man and left the room, completely disgusted. It would take at least three showers to wash the stench out.

He went back to his and Stiles' motel room in order to compare the phone numbers in a place that didn't stink like feces.

"Find anything?" Derek asked, sitting at the table pouring over the numbers.

"I don't think it's a spirit. I'm still reading this, give me five minutes," Stiles had the laptop open on his knees and was scrolling through an online article.

Nineteen of the twenty numbers were already dead and the last number belonged to Stiles. Whatever this son of a bitch was, it wanted Stiles, and it wanted him dead.

"I have a theory!" Stiles announced as he made his way over to Derek, before placing the laptop in front of him. "I think it's a Crocotta. They can imitate the voices of deceased loved ones and are known for saying 'come to me' in order to try to convince their victims to submit to them, before they lovingly suck out their souls. They also thrive in filth, kind of like dirty Dementors."

"Just say I worked at a phone company, would I be able to affix certain numbers to different phones?" Derek asked, running his own theory in his head.

"Well, yeah, that's what they do, Derek. Why? Have you got a lead? Can I come with?" Stiles closed his laptop and sat on the table.

"Kind of, I'll be back in an hour, I'll email you if I find anything," He started making his way towards the door before Stiles caught up with him.

"Wait, wait, you're going in unprepared," Stiles pulled him back into the room in case anyone heard them. "You've got to stab it in the back of neck with a silver knife. I'm coming with you by the way, you'll go in angry and fuck this up." Stiles straightened Derek's jacket and grinned at him.

"I do the killing. Not you," Derek shoved him off and walked out again. "I'll be fine, see you in an hour." Stiles shut the door and grabbed the laptop again, he could at least be prepared if it wasn't a Crocotta.

Derek walked back into the office building, flashing the Sheriff's badge before storming into Chris' office.

"I know it's you," Derek shouted, pointing the knife at him. "And I know what you are."

Chris turned and looked at him; one hand down his pants and a woman getting fucked on his screen.

"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about," Chris stared at him nervously, genuine fear blooming on his face.

"I know you're using that number to make people kill themselves," Derek yanked the man by the hair and pressed the knife at the back of his neck. He tightened his grip on the knife, preparing to stab him, when he felt a blow to the back of his head.

The laptop began to beep continuously, flashing up the new email symbol. He went to open his inbox, before he saw a Skype call answer by itself. Derek's voice crackled through the small speakers.

"Stiles, please, God, Stiles, I need you," Stiles stared at the screen, terrified. Could his laptop actually do that? "Stiles? Are you there? I found the Crocotta, it's going to kill me. Please Stiles, come to me." Stiles looked down at the laptop and saw the address for a phone company pop up. He leapt out of the bed and sprinted out of the room, leaving the door open in his hurry to find Derek.

Derek started to wake up and found himself bound to a chair with rope and tape, and not in the good way.

"Fuck, my head," he groaned, looking around him. He was still in Chris' office, and the pair of them were tied up. The receptionist from the motel was bent over Chris, fiddling with his computer.

"Ooh, sore head?" she cooed, ruffling Derek's hair. The receptionist smelled like she drowned herself in perfume but Derek could smell the underlying filth coursing through her. Derek couldn't believe he hadn't smelled it before but the stench of the motel must've covered it up.

"You're the Crocotta," Derek said heavily; trying to distract himself from the smell.

"A smart head too. Yes, I'm the Crocotta and I'm absolutely starving. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to devour this," she pointed at Chris and looked him up and down, "I don't even know what to call this creature. But I suppose his soul will do. The dirty ones are always that much tastier."

She bent Chris' head back, unhinged her jaw and sucked. Loudly. It was as if she had stuck a straw down Chris' throat and was literally sucking the life out of him. When she was done she smacked her lips loudly and sat on the dead man's knee.

"Your soul smells differently though, I can't put my finger on why," she cracked Chris' neck and rolled his head to the side, "It was a nice plan though, awful execution. I could smell you were a hunter as soon as you walked through the door. All the silver and bullets gave it away. And the fact your check in name was Derek Hale. You're getting famous with your little escapades."

"Fuck you," Derek snarled, extending his claws and scratching at the rope binding him to the chair. He took a quick look around the room and saw some iron spikes sticking out from the wall. They weren't the right type, but they'd do to hold the Crocotta until he found his knife.

"Oh now, Derek, don't be so mean. Your little boyfriend will be here soon, don't you want to be good for him?" the Crocotta cooed, getting up and pacing menacingly around the office.

Whilst the Crocotta was talking to Derek, Stiles was making his way through the building. Hiding a knife in his jeans, he went through the different offices until he started to smell something completely rotten coming from the stairs. He made his way down tentatively, listening out for any conversation, until he heard Derek cursing through the only door at the bottom of the hallway. Stiles waited a minute or two before bursting through the door. Derek instantly leapt up and shoved the Crocotta against the spike. She immediately began to flounder, kicking and shoving the hunter. He growled at her; his face entirely wolfed-out. His claws were digging into the back of her throat and his other hand was extended towards Stiles.

"Your knife, Stiles! Your knife!" Derek shouted, pinning the Crocotta in place. Stiles fumbled with the knife before eventually passing it over to Derek, who promptly stabbed the Crocotta at the back of neck, right next to the spike that was currently lodged in it. The beast made a horrible, guttural gargling noise before her head went limp.

"Phew, that was a close one," Stiles wheezed, grinning widely at Derek, who simply shook his head at him. "One tiny question though. How do we explain this one?" He pointed between the two dead bodies and the blood splatter on Derek's shirt.

"We don't. Let's go, Stilinski, time to get the hell out of Dodge," Derek grabbed Stiles by the collar and led him out of the building and into their car. They stopped off at the motel, grabbed their things and high-tailed it out of Milan as fast as they could.

"Seriously? We couldn't stay one night? One freaking night?" Stiles shouted, kicking the dashboard in frustration before leaning his head against his hand.

"If we stayed one more night, it'd be in a jail cell," Derek went through the gears, trying to put as much road between them and Milan as fast as he could.

"King sized bed, Derek," Stiles pouted. "Do you know how long it's been since we actually slept on a real bed? I can't even remember it's been that freaking long. And car sex has lost all its novelty. It's no longer sexy and fun, it's just constant and cramped. Why not shake it up with a real fucking bed!"

"Shut up Stiles, you're really getting on my nerves," Derek clutched at the steering wheel, trying to tame his anger.

"Fine, but it's just you and your hand until we find a bed," Stiles still had his feet planted on the dashboard, leaving scuff marks in his wake.

"Feet off the dashboard Stiles," Derek was getting really ticked off with him now.

"Make me." Derek pulled the car over, grabbed Stiles' feet and placed them on the floor. He locked eyes with Stiles, the red glow bright and scary.

"Getting angry, Derek?" Stiles asked, running his hands down the back of Derek's head. "Bet you'd love to release some of that anger." Stiles grinned at him before pushing Derek closer to him. Stiles kissed his way around from Derek's lips to his ear, sucking gently on the lobe. Derek shifted his body around and tried to grind against Stiles.

"It's such a pity we're not having sex again until we're on a bed."


End file.
